An hour later, the elevator hummed softly as it descended through the gleaming heart of the Steele Complex.
Inside, Darren stood with a quiet, commanding presence, hands clasped in front of him, steel-blue eyes fixed on his own reflection. It was like he hadn't just engaged in a madness of lustful romance a mere hour ago.
Thankfully, the suit was not stained. It had been slightly rumpled from their clash of desire but Rachel gave it a quick ironing and it was suitable once again.
On his body, it was grand, like it was made just for him. The suit was a Brioni Vanquish II, crafted from the finest Super 150s wool. The single-breasted jacket featured peak lapels, hand-stitched with surgical precision, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering to a fitted waist.
Beneath it, a Tom Ford dress shirt, pristine white, with its French cuffs secured by platinum cufflinks engraved with the Steele crest. A black silk Zegna tie, knotted in a perfect double Windsor, sat snug against his throat.
